Sunday, September 22, 2013

"RADIO NAPALM" Podcast # 12: In Celebration of Vernette Bader


Study that face. Remember it. Imprint it in your deepest recesses. This is the face of what police in North Charleston, South Carolina, consider a dangerous criminal. But to us Irregulars, she is a heroine.

She is Vernett Bader, and she is the woman taken into custody for the attempted stabbing of her roommate...because the asshole wouldn't stop playing THE EAGLES!

Here at "RADIO NAPALM," we think this is wrong! The roommate should be arrested for cruelly inflicting his shitty taste on the world! Vernett Bader deserves a medal, a book contract, and a tour of daytime talk shows.

Instead, we give her a radio show.

"RADIO NAPALM" was due to feature your requests this week, for the first time. And we still play them. But Vernett's story so moved Ed, Scooter, and I, we knew what we had to do: We had to dedicate this week's show to Vernett.

So yes, the show is pretty much as it always is. But it's all done in Vernett's honor.

Oh, here's the link - click and play:





And here's the playlist:

MAGAZINE - Shot By Both Sides
DAN SARTAIN - Now Now Now (with Jane Wiedlin) (Too Tough To Live, 2012) 
THE EQUALS - Police On My Back (1968, Requested by Lonesome Dave Fisher, Austin, TX)
BORN LOOSE -  Step Up To The Plate (Be A Runaway) (Larry May, ex-Candy Snatchers, NYC 2012)
THE CLASH - Guns Of Brixton (Sound System remaster 2013, Requested by Jason Martin, Austin, TX)
999 - Emergency (original 45 rip, 1978)
THE COPPER GAMINS - All Hid (Mexico, 2013, Los Ninos De Cobre, Saustex Media)
THE HUMPERS - Steel-Toed Sneakers (Punk-O-Rama, Vol. 3, requested by Alan Villareal, Round Rock)
THE LOVESORES - Flamethrower Chic (2013, Portland, Scott "Deluxe" Drake)
JD MCPHERSON - North Side Gal (Signs & Signifiers, 2012)
JIM JONES REVUE - Collision Boogie (new single out Oct. 14, requested by Walter Daniels, Austin, TX)
PUSSY GALORE - Pig Sweat (Right Now!, 1987)
JON SPENCER BLUES EXPLOSION - Boot Cut  (Meat & Bone, 2012)
PLOWBOY SPOTLIGHT: BEBE BUELL - I'll Hold You In My Heart (2013, You Don't Know Me: Rediscovering Eddy Arnold)
EDDIE COCHRAN - Nervous Breakdown (1958)
TOP TUNE OF THE DAY: THE DEVIL DOGS - Radio Beat (requested by Kari Krome)

Friday, September 13, 2013

9/12/13 "RADIO NAPALM: THIS IS RADIO CLASH" Special


Irregulars, I know I've been lax in posting the radio show here in the blog, of late. Actually, I've just been lax about the blog, but that's another story.
BUT...before I digress too far up my own backside and start reminiscing about shoveling snow in Denver or some crud, let's put this thing back on rails.
Yesterday was my 48th birthday. Among the presents I received (including two new pairs of hi-tops, which I've been needing, and a new pair of black skinny chinos) was the new Clash box set out on Sony/Legacy as of Tuesday the 10th, Sound Syustem. Mick Jones himself lovingly remastered the back catalog, making it sound more 3D than it has since the original vinyl records were issued, then assembled it onto high quality facsimile CDs, alongside a triple-disc of non-LP 45s, B-sides, early demos and live material and a DVD of archival footage. Paul Simonon then equally lovingly assembled a beautiful package to house the disc that's itself a work of art: He filled a fliptop box based around his old Clash-era boombox with facsimile tour badges, stickers, dogtags, three issues of the old Armagideon Times fanzine (including a specially assembled new edition), even a blank book for you to fill titled The Future Is Unwritten (to get quite Joe Strummer about it).
That new Clash box was handed to me by my editor at The Austin Chronicle not only as an early birthday present, but with the express instruction to write a 300 word review and an expanded blog. You will see those next week. But this is such musical gold, why not assemble a radio birthday celebration of one of my favorite bands around Sound System's treasures?
That I did, working around the clock after posting another new "RADIO NAPALM" this past Monday. And I didn't stop with Sound System: I assembled a Clash audio collage for 90+ minutes, filling the gaps out of my own vast archives with vintage interviews with Joe, Mick and Paul, plus some exciting unreleased live material. This is an assault of prime Clashness for your ears.
Enjoy my birthday gift to you: "RADIO NAPALM": This Is Radio Clash, streaming for your punk rock pleasure at Mixcloud. The link is below, just above the playlist. Click it, open your speakers wide and everybody smash up your seats and rock to this brand-new beat! This here music mash up the nation! This here music cause a sensation! Tell your ma, tell your pa: Everything gonna be alright....


Capital Radio One (live, "So It Goes" UK Granada TV, Manchester, 11/15/77)
Janie Jones (Sound System remaster)
Pressure Drop (Sound System remaster)
Garageland (live, "So It Goes" UK Granada TV, Manchester, 11/15/77)
White Riot (45 version, Sound System remaster)
Complete Control (Sound System remaster)
White Man In Hammersmith Palais (Sound System remaster)
Safe European Home (Sound System remaster)
Tommy Gun (live UK TV Appearance, 1978)
I Fought The Law (Sound System remaster)
Groovy Times (Sound System remaster)
London Calling (Sound System remaster)
Clampdown (Sound System remaster)
The Guns Of Brixton (Sound System remaster)
Train In Vain (Sound System remaster)
Bankrobber (Sound System remaster)
Police On My Back (Sound System remaster)
One More Time (Sound System remaster)
Know Your Rights (Sound System remaster)
Straight To Hell (from "Saturday Night Live")
1977 (live in Cardiff, Wales, 1977)

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

REPOST: Something I rarely talk about....

Today's True Hero: Johnny Heff



TIM SEZ: Repost from my old MySpace blog from three years back. Ike fizzled before he got to Austin, obviously. In the time since I posted this, my friend's death score was settled, with Bin Laden's capture and execution. (And no, I don't buy any conspiracy theories on this subject. Nor do I buy conspiracy theories, period. Please save it all for your next Alex Jones fan club meeting, thank you.) Troops have been thinned in Iraq and Afghanistan, but.... And there's a chance we may find ourselves in another conflict soon. On a personal level, I reflect that this day began a ten year spiral of personal tragedy and self-destruction I've only come out of in the last year - miracles do happen. Today, I also reflect that America became a mean-spirited, selfish nation in the wake of this day, and we have never recovered from it nor corrected it - it just gets worse. We never fucking learn....



I repost this every year, so we don't forget, so some semblance of truth remains out there...and for my late friend Johnny you will read about here. He is a real hero. I miss him every day.

 
Something I rarely talk about
Current mood:  contemplative
Category: Life
It looks pretty certain the day after my birthday, I'm riding out a hurricane. Odd, for the Austin area. Where I grew up, it was more common: I'd been through three by the time I was a teenager, the last one having been Allen back in 1980 (I think it was). Not a big deal, really. By the time Ike hits here, he's gonna be a lotta wind and rain, really.

But, come on, Ike: Could your timing be any worse?

It's kinda par for the course, right now. Something about this decade and my birthday has meant disaster for me. There was the girlfriend who decided to break up with me the week of my birthday, just because that would sting the most, I'm sure. Then, there was the birthday on which Johnny Cash had the misfortune of dying. That really sucked.

But I think the coldest was the group of middle eastern gentlemen who thought it would be really cool to fly a couple of airplanes into the World Trade Center the day before my birthday in 2001.

I slept through it. I was homeless at the time and staying with a friend on 7th and Ave. B, probably three or four miles from the Twin Towers. She was out of town, and I was house-sitting, soon to move in with my friend Sami Yaffa and his girl Karmen. I was working at the time as a professional dog walker, and I got up at 11 AM. It was supposed to be just another day: I was thinking about coffee, looking over the schedule, wondering who the first dog of the day would be, etc., etc. I turned on Howard Stern's show, as was my wont back then (until he said something completely insulting about John Lee Hooker on the day Hook died, and I swore I'd never listen to the tasteless bastard again). And judging by the hysteria I was hearing, it was the end of the world.

I called my boss to find out what was going on. That was when I found out the towers had been hit.

From there, people were calling in left and right, canceling walks; most of our customer base worked in the financial district, so they were now gonna be home. I was getting all kinds of bits and pieces from there: The doorman at the building on Irving Place where a few of my dogs lived reported looking up and seeing the first jet flying so close to the ground, he could see its' markings. My friend Mark who lived two blocks away called me up and told me he was on the phone, talking to his mother, looking out his panoramic view of the southern end of Manhattan...and saw that same jet fly right past his building, shaking him and the whole building. Mark got a front row seat at watching it crash straight into Tower Number One.

These calls were going on for three hours. I couldn't sit down to eat. Finally, about 2 PM, I was able to leave the apartment and walk down to Ave. A, in search of breakfast. Every joint in the neighborhood was crammed to the rafters, it seemed. There were hand-written signs in the windows, advising that the Red Cross needed blood, go to this hospital or that one, go to Bellvue, go someplace, we need blood. The air smelled awful, like burning tires or hair, but worse. It would be that way for months. And can you imagine what it does to a mind, knowing that what you're breathing might be friends of yours'?

I finally squeezed into Sidewalk Cafe, ran into friends I knew from the local rock circuit. The waitresses and bartenders looked like they were gonna have coronaries. My waitress confided in me that they were severely understaffed, especially with the crush they were experiencing, and people due to work that day who lived out in Brooklyn or wherever were calling in because the subways were now shut down and they couldn't make it in. She looked like she was about to cry. Seconds later, some jerk at the table next to me started cursing her out about how long it was taking for him to get his eggs. I slammed my fist on his table and shocked him: "DUDE, DO YOU GET IT? CAN YOU LOOK AROUND YOU? DO YOU SEE HOW OVERWORKED THESE PEOPLE ARE RIGHT NOW? CAN YOU TURN AROUND AND SEE THE COLUMN OF SMOKE WHERE THE WORLD TRADE CENTER USED TO BE? CAN YOU FOR ONCE IN YOUR GAWDFERSAKEN EXISTENCE STOP THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF AND TRY TO PUT YOURSELF IN THE SHOES OF THE PEOPLE WORKING HERE AND THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU?"

"What are you getting mad at me for?" he whined. "It's not my fault they don't have enough people working. I'm hungry." I just stared at him.

I decided to wander a bit after eating and having coffee. People were then walking up from around the disaster site, walking because the subways were shut down, and no cabs can be found. They were covered in soot, looking like some ancient Jack Kirby panel out of a '60s Marvel comic. I ran into Jesse Malin, on his way to buy a protein bar and a newspaper. We started talking about The Strokes' debut album, which had just been released a few days before. (Or maybe that was only in the UK? Well, copies were obviously getting around on import.) And I remember at the time thinking, "Why are we talking about The Strokes in the middle of this?!"

My cellphone rang. It was my mother. She'd been trying to reach me for hours. The satellite dishes for the cellphone companies were based at the Twin Towers. Finally, a provisional satellite path was opened, and she could know I was alive. The family were scared shitless: They had no idea of the geography of Manhattan, and for all they knew, I could be dead.

I went back to the apartment and finally turned on the news. For hours, my eyes were raped with endless repeats of the footage of those planes crashing into those towers. It was relentless. I finally had to turn it off and order pay-per-view porn. After all, what's amoral here: Being bombarded with footage of the WTC being penetrated hard and fast by terrorist-commandeered planes? Or being bombarded with footage of Jenna Jameson getting penetrated hard and fast from various angles?

The days and weeks after were like nothing I'd ever experienced. I remember having to wear a filter mask as I did the dogwalks for a long time, and suffering massive headaches from the air quality. For awhile, you would be forced to present ID at two different checkpoints to MPs if you lived in the East Village, just to get to and from your apartment. Armed personnel carriers would be going up and down Houston St. The middle eastern guys who ran the deli downstairs looked at me with pleading, fearful eyes that told me they were already getting harassed for the color of their skins and their accents. Probably by the same louts I heard that Friday up and down Avenue B, drunkenly chanting, "U! S! A! U! S! A!" I feared those clowns more than I did potential terrorists.

I can remember my mother and I talking, and she kept telling me, "We all understand. We all are with you. We're all going through this together." And I had to tell her that no, there was no way she could understand unless she was here. She got to watch this from the safety of her living room. This wasn't TV for me or anyone else in NYC. This was our lives. And it wasn't fun, and I hoped that she (and everyone else who didn't live here) never had to find out what I was going through.

The worst was finding out how one of my dearest friends was affected by this: Johnny Heffernan was one of my local brothers in rock. His band The Bullys was one of Napalm Stars' brother bands. Johnny was frequently there when I needed him, whether I needed to borrow an amp, or whether I was having to fend off an obnoxious and violent stage invader. I considered him one of my best friends. He was to have left on my birthday to go on tour with The Toilet Boys, doing their lighting.

Johnny was also a NYC fire fighter.

He was not supposed to be on duty on Sept. 11, 2001. It was supposed to be his day off. He was working instead, trying to get in overtime before he left on the road, to support his wife and young stepdaughter. His company was among the first to respond when Tower Number One was hit. From what I remember, most (if not all) of his company was buried when the tower collapsed. Johnny's bandmates, family, friends, we all held hope that he was still alive. They pulled Johnny's crushed body out one month later.

We all know who killed my friend, as well as the many others who died that day. America invaded Afghanistan shortly after, gunning for Osama Bin Laden. Over time, our leaders began telling us Iraq had some connection with the WTC attacks, that they had weapons of mass destruction, that Saddaam Hussein had something to do with this. This, of course, turned out not to be the case. We are still at war in Iraq. Osama Bin Laden, the man who commanded the men who killed my friend and all those others, remains free.

Happy birthday.

Thursday, July 4, 2013

"They're ALL Mistakes!" What The Austin Chronicle Left Out Of My Cheap Trick Piece

TIM: "Say, Rick! Whaddaya say we blow this joint, grab a couple 7-11 chili dogs and some Nesbitt Orange Soda, and listen to Move outtakes all night?" RICK NIELSEN: "Who IS this freakin' nutjob?!" (Pic: Todd Wulfmeyer)
First of all, Happy July 4th! I'll probably celebrate my freedom by hitting the neighborhood 7-11 for a Quarter Pound Big Bite with chili, mustard, and onions and a Mexican Coca Cola, which should just about clear out the five bucks I have 'til midnight. Livin' on the edge in America, baby....

Secondly, thanks to the 147 of you who have hit my post on the HB2 hearing in the Texas State Legislature on Tuesday. That's 147 readers since it was posted at 8:30 PM last night, making it the largest audience this blog has had in the shortest amount of time. That piece was my first attempt at long-form news and politics coverage, and I felt I had to get down my impressions. There was just too much rich journalistic material at my disposal, just by reacting in my natural fashion to what I saw and getting it on paper. I knew I was surfing straight into Hunter S. Thompson territory there, whether I write that well or not, or if I'm even worthy of it or not. But it turned out good, and your feedback just confirms it. Maybe I have a future at gonzo journalism? Is there an outlet for me to do this? 

Last week, the Austin Chronicle website ran an interview I did with Cheap Trick's Rick Nielsen in anticipation of his band's return to the ACL Moody Theater here in Austin last Tuesday night. (Yep, the same night Sen. Wendy Davis and several thousand pissed-off Texans stood up to the bastards in the Lege and vocally shut down SB5, a mile from my East Austin home. I, of course, was at Cheap Trick, unaware how heated it was getting in the statehouse.) I was happy in general with what got run, although my editors chopped off the best part of the interview! I also preferred my original, unedited intro. So, in the interest of my self-interest, I present both to you, my loyal readership:


THE ORIGINAL INTRO: 
If it's 1979, and you're a 14 year old boy trapped growing up in a small South Texas town, Cheap Trick means everything. Apparently, that was the case for plenty of other people, too: Enough to propel them to record stores all over by the millions after hearing the live take of “I Want You To Want Me” that took over the airwaves that summer. That single, and its parent album Cheap Trick At Budokan (still the best audio document of Japan's love of anything skinny, white, and loud), made the Midwestern rock 'n' roll act stadium-filling and chart-topping stars after years of hard work. And it finally spelled the end of the disco era and a chart return to high-energy rock 'n' roll, if only for a moment.

Cheap Trick At Budokan defined a certain brand of rock 'n' roll excitement: One that embraced both The Beatles and The Who, as well as punk's blitzkrieg approach, high energy plan, and economy of structure. They certainly didn't look like your standard issue rock band: There were two 16 Magazine-style pin-ups, a zany lead guitarist who dressed like Huntz Hall and spazzed out behind a prodigious guitar collection, and a drummer who looked like a chain-smoking accountant staying up all night filing taxes. That wacky guitarist, Rick Nielsen, also happened to write songs that reflected a warped worldview, one that could produced a “My Generation”-in-reverse called “Surrender” that would become as immortal as that Who song: “Mommy's alright, daddy's alright/They just seem a little weird....” And who can forget the verse about catching Mom and Dad on the couch, rolling joints on your Kiss albums?


Cheap Trick has survived the usual career ebb-and-flow and has remained a hard-touring, meat-and-potatoes rock 'n' roll band that occasionally still issues solid records as strong as any of their '70s classics. They'll be at ACL Moody Theater on Tuesday. Rick Nielsen checked in with us by phone from where you'll usually find him: The road.
FROM THE ORIGINAL INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT:
RICK NIELSEN:  I've always liked live bands. My favorite live band of all time is The Who. They were always great live.
TIM: And I've always heard a lot of The Who in what Cheap Trick does.
RICK NIELSEN: Yeah, our mistakes are real! (laughs)
TIM: Well, sometimes, those mistakes become songs, don't they?
RICK NIELSEN: (laughing) They all do!

And now, let me leave you with a patriotic ditty from D.O.A. (Yes, they're Canadian. Shut up!)



Wednesday, July 3, 2013

“Crazier Shit Than I've Seen In 30 Years Of Writing About Punk Rock Bands”: Weird Scenes Inside The Texas Legislature

The Dallas Morning News captures one of the poor Blue People who apparently no one was listening to....

Yeah, most of you are aware I've returned to the wonderful world of full-time freelance rock 'n' roll journalism, thanks to the kindness of The Austin Chronicle. Mind you, the spoils are far less plentiful than in my supposed heyday back in the '90s. Hence, I have to work something part-time, a few days per week. I lost my latest retail gig last week, so I took on a new one. One that now makes me a full-time writer and journalist.

Without revealing the name of the company I work for, which might be unprofessional, I was hired by a private subscription service as something between a straight news reporter and a minutes-taker. My job is basically to attend hearings in the Texas State Legislature, record who said what at what time, write it up in as dry a manner as possible, and then it's sent out to a list of several hundred (or maybe several thousand?) subscribers, civics groups and the like, I'm guessing. It pays about three dollars more per hour than I've enjoyed in about five years, and beats retail and day labor, which were my most recent jobs.

My first day was yesterday. Which means I was plunged, along with another young lady, into the HB2 hearing. Yep, the abortion debate. Basically, the sequel to the remake of Mr. Smith Goes To Washington starring an overnight sensation named Sen. Wendy Davis that we all watched the last Tuesday in June via live streaming. Overnight, Sen. Davis became an international political star with an 11-hour filibuster that slowly, spontaneously gathered support as people from around the state – not just the city of Austin – began filing into the statehouse, 'til there were thousands spilling out of the gallery and into every nook and cranny of the Capitol building. When it became apparent Sen. Davis' eloquent words alone were not going to stop SB5 (as it was called last week), thousands of Texans decided to help. Really fucking loud. Louder than your average heavy metal gig. It was enough to unnerve the smug old bastards – white men, one and all (with the aid of a handful of deluded women) – in their expensive suits, throwing them completely off their game. A vote was called, but too late. They passed the damned bill, but at two minutes after midnight, when the special session had ended. And despite some sneaky bastard attempting to change the time-stamp (and getting caught by internet screen shot, which went viral immediately), Lt. Gov. David Dewhurst had to grumpily concede time had expired, then claimed the vote was derailed by "an unruly mob using Occupy Wall Street tactics."

Why were these people angry about a bill lawmakers claimed repeatedly was “designed to protect women and babies?” Well, as Huffington Post put it, “The legislation would have prohibited abortions after 20 weeks of pregnancy, regulated first-trimester abortion clinics as ambulatory surgical centers and restricted access to medication abortions. Had it passed, nearly all of the clinics in the state would have been shuttered.”

In short, it was the latest legal bomb anti-abortion forces were lobbing at Roe vs. Wade. Finally realizing they will never get that landmark Supreme Court decision repealed, they've instead worked at chipping away at it on a local level, state-by-state. SB5 would have been the most sweeping destruction of Roe vs. Wade yet. So now the world's eyes are on Texas.

But Gov. Rick Perry being Gov. Jackass – vowing at a Los Angeles anti-abortion rally two years back to keep the pressure up until “Roe v. Wade is nothing but a shameful footnote in our nation’s history books” -  he called for another special session the next day to finally get this bill passed. The taxpayers' cost for Perry to grind his ax? Potentially $800K. There's your limited government and reduction of spending in action for you....

So, July 2, 2013, the House panel is called to order by Chairman Byron Cook (Republican, District 8) shortly after 3:30 PM with an admonishment for “mutual respect” from those present to testify. As Burnt Orange Report's Editor-In-Chief Katherine Haenschen put it as she live-blogged the hearing, “That's rich, coming from someone who refused to let everyone testify in the first session and who has already indicated that the testimony of actual Texans will make no impact on committee members.” The auditorium is packed, so I find an overflow room screening a closed-circuit feed around 3:30 PM. Outside and in, hundreds are milling and filing in, at this point more the Pro-Lifers in blue shirts with a strip of red tape with “LIFE” scrawled across in Marks-A-Lot than the orange-shirted Pro-Choicers. This is likely due to Pro-Choicers needing to work and coming down after 5 or 6. The Blue People are already apparently a smug lot, and likely have the leisure to drive down from Dallas or wherever, and take off from work if need be. I'm already cursing myself for not having some duct tape and a sharpie, so I can rub “DEATH” in their faces. (Not that I necessarily want to wear orange. It's a hideous color that does not agree with me, better suited for John Boehner and Snookie. But my soul is definitely more orange than blue. Yeah, I'm biased. This is my blog. Shut up.)

Ten minutes into being questioned by Rep. Sylvester Turner (Democrat, District 139), it became evident that the author of HB2 (one of the two new bills SB5 was split into), Rep. Jodie Laubenberg (Republican, District 89), is a Disney Animatronics robot run amok. She apparently has an 11-word vocabulary: “My intention is to protect the health and safety of women.” This is the only answer Laubenberg gives, repeatedly, as she is asked some very good questions by Turner and Democratic Rep. Jessica Farrar of District 148: “My intention is to protect the health and safety of women.” Turner presses, as he will through the hearing, a very good question: If ambulatory clinics and the like are going to be required to upgrade to meet newly mandated state standards under Laubenberg's bill should it become law, shouldn't the state provide the funds to do so, so that these clinics – frequently rural residents' best health care resource – won't have to close? “My intention is to protect the health and safety of women.” Always delivered with the same flat-lining syntax of a serious anti-psychotics abuser. Were I still a drinking man, I could've gotten seriously fucked-up in ten minutes playing this drinking game.

Over an hour furiously scribbling notes on this madness would destroy the mightiest of men. A mind goes to mush by the 115th “my intention is to protect the health and safety of women.” Thankfully, the woman I was partnered with to cover this tag-team style arrived after enduring an hour's search for parking. I had to leave, get a 7-11 hot dog and iced tea and sit as far away from the madness as possible, reading TSOL singer Jack Grisham's fine fictionalized “memoir,” An American Demon. A man needs a little punk rock and fine literature to restore the damage of an endless tape loop of “my intention is to protect the health and safety of women.”

I returned to the Capitol an hour later, properly fortified. My mind may have been playing tricks on me, but it sure seemed there were a helluva lot more State Troopers on-hand than three hours' ago. This is not a good thing. But Orange People are now far outnumbering Blue People, and this is a good thing. Not only are the Orange People more righteous and more fun, they also bring good pizza and cookies. This is important.

6:33 PM, back in the overflow room, it's maybe 90 minutes into the citizens' testimony Rep. Byron Cook didn't want to hear last time around. At this point, he needn't have worried, as it's mostly Blue People speaking with the proper disgust (if male) or hand-wringing/weeping melodrama (if female), with lots of appeals to “human decency” and choruses of “babies feel pain after 20 weeks,” or the females speaking of their “shame when I killed my baby,” or being “forced into the abortion” by evil clinic staff and abusive boyfriends. Some get detailed cross-examination from Cook if they are Blue. If they are Orange, they get a disinterested “you have 30 seconds” from Cook at the 2:30 mark.

After a time, it becomes apparent that for every Orange speaker, Cook calls up maybe three Blue speakers. At 11:01 PM, Rep. Farrar makes sure the record reflects that, at that point, 42 had spoken for the bill, 33 against it – with over a thousand outside that would not speak before Cook's 12:01 AM deadline. Another speaker notes that she saw, at 11 AM, Blue People registering their 8-year-old children and even unborn babies to speak for the bill. The Orange speakers eventually get more righteous, including a number of women who registered their contempt for the panel: One Katy Hime informed the panel that “the men up here have no manners” and that she wouldn't “give you my gynecological details – it's none of your business!”

Outside, during another break, as the Orange People definitely now outnumber the Blue People, I distinctly see one Blue woman not even attempt to hide the contempt that washed across her face. Which makes me consider completely incorrect violence. But I am a reasonable human being, unlike her, so I let it pass. And as the pizza and cookies arrived, I note who appears to be providing the Blue People with their free grub: Chik-Fil-A. You've got it: The comfort food of Christian fag haters America-wide....

Back in the overflow chamber, the Blue People were getting funnier:
“I'm Brian MacAuliffe, speaking for the bill. I am a juggler....”

REALLY?! DAMN, I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT IMPORTANT JUGGLER LOBBY TO SHOW UP! NOW THIS IS GONNA GET FUN!

Turns out Brian is some sorta juggler for Christ, stationing himself outside abortion clinics to educate the poor souls wanting to go in and get advice (without being molested by pesky jugglers) of their “alternatives.” Let me guess? Marrying the father and having the kid? Wait – giving it up for adoption? Of course! Why not? I mean, she only loathes the bastard that raped her! Let's see the child through!

But the self-proclaimed “sidewalk angel” has got better jokes up his sleeve: “Abortion makes men think of women as sex objects!”

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wow! This guy's got odd ideas of what makes a woman hot, doesn't he? “You had an abortion?! Ooh, baby! Let's fuck – right here, right NOW! I've GOT to have you, you sweet thang!”

Then there's Mrs. Terry Reed of Dallas, who most assuredly did not put out a phenomenal blues rock LP in 1969 and promote it opening for the Rolling Stones on their US tour that year. But damn, has she got some insight into America's problems:

"We are in an economic crisis because of abortion!"

Wait! You mean, this mess isn't because of thieves and liars on Wall Street?!

It gets better: Mrs. Reed then informs us that because of abortion, there aren't enough people to take care of aging baby boomers.

Jesus wept....

Around 11:50 PM, Rep. Turner begins sparring with Allen Parker of the Justice Foundation, speaking for HB2. Turner finally brings up and brings home what any sane human should know: This fucking bill is unconstitutional, and if the Supreme Court ever looked at it, it would get shut down instantaneously. Which is what is going to have to happen, if this local level erosion of Roe v. Wade is ever to be stopped: The Supreme Court has to finally say, “Guys, you can't do that!” Which will start a battle over state's rights which can't help but get messy and despicable. It will be a blot on our nation's history that no one should look upon except in abject shame. (By the way, did I mention the Juggler For Christ tried to compare Roe v. Wade to Dred Scott as “another Supreme Court decision later thought to be bad?”)

After Rep. Turner spoke at 12:01 AM about how wrong it was that the panel was not hearing all 2,300 who signed up to speak, Rep. Cook called for a vote.

“What?!” said Rep. Turner. “You did not say we were going to vote tonight! I wanted to add 2 amendments to this bill!”

As UPI reported, “the House State Affairs Committee approved the measure 8-3, with two absences.”

Outside, all night long, the State Troopers had corralled all Orange people who wanted to protest and chant into a glassed-in area in the annex. They happily marched in circles and chanted all night. Walking outside, these folks were audibly pissed. This was louder and angrier than earlier. As I tried to get a closer look, a Trooper roughly informed me I had to leave the building. He followed me to the elevators.

“Why are you following me?” I asked.

“I'm gonna make sure you get on that elevator.”

“I don't need to be supervised and manhandled.”

“I'm gonna make sure you get on that elevator.”

Shit, Jodie Laubenberg's son must be a Trooper....

As I surfaced and walked the grounds towards the exit, several more Troopers arrived. Outside, Austin Police Department cruisers conspicuously patrolled the surrounding streets in unusual numbers for the area. Police choppers circled. I texted friends and my colleague for the service to get the hell out. Something ugly was brewing, and I didn't like it. My friends texted back that a Trooper car was dogging their car's tail.

In the words of WC Fields, “T'ain't a fit night for man nor beast....”



Friday, June 14, 2013

Brand new "RADIO NAPALM" episode at Mixcloud!

Yep, not even my laziness can stop "RADIO NAPALM!" Podcast # 5 is up at Mixcloud, and it's a doozy! New hits from  MUDHONEY, CYANIDE PILLS, ALEJANDRO ESCOVEDO, BLACK FLAG, REV. NORB AND THE ONIONS, and FREDDY "BOOM BOOM" CANNON AND THE GEARS! Classics from THE CELIBATE RIFLES. THE DAMNED, JOHNNY THUNDERS, THE ANIMALS, and THE ANGRY SAMOANS. More music AND more reverb! It's Punk Boss Radio at its finest!Fully rad, dad! Let's rock!


Sunday, June 9, 2013

Live Review: The Adolescents At SXSW

Tony Adolescent and Tim Napalm: Survivors of the 1998 Adz/Hormones Tour Of Texas! (Photo snapped by someone backstage at Scoot Inn on my phone.)
Live review: The adolescents
Wed., mar. 13Th, Scoot inn, Austin, Tx.
(Yeah, it's a bit late. What the fuck...?)
The crowd's rather thick, and so's the air, bearing the heat 'n' humidity more befitting Austin in July than during SXSW. A young idiot two humans to my left unzips his worn Hot Topic black stretch jeans, pulls out his plug, and begins hydrating the concrete and every leg within splashing range with his whizz. A big OC-circa-1981-looking bruiser roughly my age grabs the uncouth youth and begins administring an instant ettiquette lesson with fists and boots, screaming about what a jackass he is, then hurls him out of the crowd and into the arms of security.
The bruiser turns around, sees me, and grins, “Whoa! You're Tim Napalm from The Hormones! I love your band!”
Three songs later, Adolescents singer Tony Brandenberg yells from the stage, “Is Tim Stegall still here? I though I saw him earlier...? Oh, there you are! Hey, Tim!” And straight into “Amoeba....”
It's 2013, and The Adolescents still stand tall and proud. There's no longer an Agnew to be found among the six string section, but the current manners of the Gibsons (whose names escape me) handle the crunch and octave runs beautifully. It almost doesn't matter: If Tony and bassist Steve Soto are on the stage, it's gonna be The Adolescents up there, and they're gonna be great. This is loud, proud, vintage punk rock at its tightest and most powerful. The blue album classics are so tuneful and brilliantly constructed, they never grow moss, always sounding amazing whatever year they're being played. And any new noise The Adolescents conjure will rock just as hard. And they're gonna play hard, with passion, ferocity, and commitment.
But it's 2013, and Tony B. is a school teacher when he's not an Adolescent. And he and the band flew in especially for this Converse and Thrasher co-sponsored SXSW day party, were raging through their set, and were to be back at the airport in a matter of hours, whereupon Tony would be up a few hours after that to take his class on a field trip. Adulthood does not stop, even when you're perpetually Adolescent....

There's those who would sneer at all this, sneer at the idea of a classic punk band playing the hits for a perpetually moshing crowd of umpteenth generation punks not even born when these songs were new. Fuck 'em. Punk did change the world, in a very small but still significant manner. Punk created a world within The World in which we can go wild and think and live differently. It became modern, urban, electric folk music, a sphere within which raw, honest expression can live and breathe, where musicians of resilience and power can be working musicians making some semblance of a living out of screaming out their pain and world view. What is so wrong with that? No, it's no longer The Revolution. But we won it, even if the rest of the world doesn't see it that way. And as long as it still affords a place for a band as great as The Adolescents to live and breathe and thrive, I'm all for it. It's enough for me.